


Crossing Paths

by relucant



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boston, Bottom Dean, Drinking, First Kiss, Grad Student Castiel, M/M, Making Out, Mechanic Dean, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Phone Sex, Public Hand Jobs, Strangers, Top Castiel, hostels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relucant/pseuds/relucant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean dropped into an empty chair and opened his laptop, and it blinked at him, demanding the WiFi password. He glanced around, cursing, eyeing the boisterous travelers and students, then caught sight of a dark-haired man that looked to be about his own age curled into the couch, a computer balanced on his knees and a pen between his teeth.</p><p>"Hey," he called, rubbing his eyes. "Y'know the password?"</p><p>THe guy lifted his head and Dean swallowed abruptly, because Jesus, those were some obscenely blue eyes, but he cleared his throat.</p><p>"For, uh. For the WiFi."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eveanyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eveanyn/gifts).



> at some point my current adventures in homeless hostel vagabondism were bound to show up in a story, so here it is. I'm not sure whether to keep this a short, one-night story, or try to draw it out further (into, probably yet another multi-chapter unfinished fic)... so, thoughts/comments/feedback always well and truly welcome!

Dean set down his bag and sank onto the bed, nearly smacking his head on the upper bunk. He groaned, looking around at the college-student detritus scattered around the hostel dorm.

"Dammit, Bobby," he cursed under his breath, kicking off his boots.

He knew that realistically it made sense for him to stay there -- the motel rooms in his usual circuit around the Midwest could be paid for with a night of pool hustling; here in New England they ran three, four times as much -- but he still felt wildly out of place.

But Bobby had got wind of a slick old car just outside Boston -- a Mustang that got Dean drooling almost as hard as his Baby, and there was no fucking way he'd've stood by and watched that beauty get _shipped_.

So here he was. Thirty-five years old and bunking down at a goddamn hostel, surrounded by kids barely half his age.

He sighed, looking around the empty dorm, then grabbed his laptop and the six-pack he'd picked up and wandered down to the basement common room.

Four Australians were fighting over the foosball table, and a sprawling, multi-lingual contingent was engaged in a heated, broken debate in front of the television.

Dean dropped into an empty chair and opened his laptop, and it blinked at him, demanding the WiFi password. He glanced around, cursing, eyeing the boisterous travelers and students, then caught sight of a dark-haired man that looked to be about his own age curled into the couch, a computer balanced on his knees and a pen between his teeth.

"Hey," he called, rubbing his eyes. "Y'know the password?"

The guy lifted his head and Dean swallowed abruptly, because Jesus, those were some obscenely blue eyes, but he cleared his throat.

"For, uh. For the WiFi."

The guy stared at him for a second, and Dean felt a flush creeping up his neck.

"Oh, uh," he said, blinking. "Yes. It's, um. Muckfountain."

"What?"

"Muckfountain. One word, lower-case."

Dean looked at him quizzically for a moment, then shrugged, poking at his keyboard. He gave it a few tries, then looked up, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, s'not working, could you --?"

Instead of the annoyed huff he expected, the guy blushed slightly.

"Muckfountain," he repeated. "Like... like fuck-mountain, but -- I... I didn't make it up."

Dean stared at him, then burst out laughing.

"So classy place, huh?" he said, typing in the password. "Oh, hey -- success!"

He got a smile in return, all chapped pink lips and white teeth, and something fluttered in Dean's stomach that he resolutely ignored.

"Uh, I'm Dean, by the way," he said, sticking out his hand. "Supposed to make friends at these places, right?"

"Castiel," the guy returned. He shook his hand with a furrowed brow. "I'm, uh... I'm not really here to make friends."

Dean drew back. "Shit, sorry, man. Didn't mean to be a bother."

"No, no, I --" Castiel fumbled, blush deepening. "I'm not -- I'm not _not_ here to make friends, I just -- I'm sorry, my, uh... 'people skills' are... 'rusty'."

Dean couldn't help laughing. "Well, Cas, if you're not _not_ lookin' to make friends, I'll keep botherin' you, 'cause I'm kinda fuckin' bored."

Cas smiled at him in visible relief.

"I'd like that. I feel a little out of place here, but my university is frugal, so..." He shrugged.

Dean pulled out two beers, waggling one at Cas, who accepted gratefully.

"University, huh?" he said, popping the cap and taking a long drink, trying not to track too obviously the way Cas' throat flexed as he did the same.

"Mm," Cas agreed, wiping his mouth. "First-year PhD student in historical architecture. Not important enough yet to merit an actual hotel. And -- thank you, Dean. This is very kind of you."

Dean waved his hand. "God, I'm just glad to have some company of legal drinking age," he said with a laugh. "Even if, y'know, PhD, way outta my league." He caught himself, stumbling over his words. "Uh, not that -- y'know -- barely got a GED myself," he finished lamely. 

Cas smiled at him. "There is more to life than academia," he said with a hint of bitterness. "What brings you to Boston, then?"

"Oh, uh, s'nothin' much," Dean said, rubbing his neck. "My work, uh -- we restore cars an' we got word of a real jewel up here, so Bobby -- my boss -- he sent me up here to check it out."

He fidgeted with his beer, but Cas was looking at him with open admiration.

"You can fix cars?" he said.

"Yeah, well -- did it with my dad since I was a kid, don't really have any other skills, so..." He shrugged.

"But you must be good, to come all the way out here... Where are you from?"

“Kansas, born and raised,” Dean replied. “Never actually been to the East Coast before. Usually I stick around the Midwest. Preferably fucking driving distance.”

“Not a fan of flying?” Cas asked curiously.

“They’re death-traps in the fucking _sky_!” he exclaimed. “It ain’t natural.” He took a long drink. “What ‘bout you?”

“Oh, I don’t mind flying,” Cas said absently, and Dean snorted.

“No, I meant -- where you from?”

“Oh,” Cas repeated, blushing again, which Dean was privately beginning to find ridiculously adorable. “Well, I grew up here in Boston, actually, which I assume sort of sparked my interest in New England architectural styles. But now I attend the University of Missouri. I suppose it’s a bit counter-intuitive to have _left_ Boston to study New England architecture, with so many respected programs here, but…I did my undergrad at U Mass, and my Master’s at Harvard, so…” He paused. “I apologize, I’m rambling.”

Dean’s eyebrows had climbed into his hairline. “Harvard, huh? Jesus. You’re a little intimidating.”

Cas shook his head. “No, I, uh… I had family connections,” he said softly.

Dean had opened his mouth to ask further when he caught the past tense, and the closed-off look that had come into Cas’ eyes.

“Well, Missouri, huh? Can’t say I’d’ve moved there on purpose, but hey, that makes us practically neighbors!”

Cas smiled at him gratefully. “I suppose so. I don’t know that I would stay there indefinitely, but it was… a needed change.”

Dean nodded, raising his bottle, and Cas clinked theirs together. They drank in silence for a few minutes, both tapping occasionally at their keyboards, until a trio of kids with vaguely Eastern European-sounding accents staggered through the common area and collapsed onto the couch against the opposite wall, chattering loudly.

“Jesus,” Dean said in irritated amusement. “S’only, what, 9:30? Kids get started early these days.”

“Well, it _is_ Friday night,” Cas pointed out. “And I suppose we’re sort of the interlopers here, not them.”

“Fair point,” Dean agreed with a sigh. “Gettin’ old sucks.” He paused, toying with his beer. “Hey, I dunno if you’re workin’, but… y’wanna get out of here for a bit? Grab a drink somewhere that maybe doesn’t feel a little like a frat house?”

Cas shut his laptop immediately, rubbing at his temples. “I would like that very much, Dean,” he said. “I know some local bars.”

“Awesome,” Dean proclaimed. “Lemme toss these in my room and grab my shoes. You need to go up?”

“No, I’m a bit paranoid about my laptop,” Cas admitted. “I could handle my wallet being stolen, but this has all of my research notes.”

“Fair enough,” Dean agreed. “Meet you back down here in like five?”

Cas nodded with another shy smile, and Dean’s heart gave a tiny lurch.

 _Just getting drinks, asshole_ , he reminded himself. _Don’t creep on random dudes in hostels. Random dudes that are probably straight._

He pounded up the stairs to his fourth-floor dorm, cursing the lack of elevator. He shoved his laptop in his bag and tucked it back under the bed, toeing on his boots. After a pause, he opened another beer and downed it in two gulps, willing himself to relax, then checked his pockets for wallet and phone and clomped back downstairs.

“So what’s the good word, Cas?” he drawled, leaning over the couch.

Cas blinked up at him. “Um… it’s a shortened version of my name?”

Dean couldn’t bite back a snort of laughter, but he raised his hands as a hurt expression flashed across Cas’ face.

“No, no, just -- I like you, Cas,” he said, a faint pleasant buzz in his veins from the beer. “You’re cute.”

Cas’ eyes widened slightly, and Dean mentally kicked himself.

“Sorry, no, I just meant, uh,” he stammered, staring at the floor.

“So I’m _not_ cute?” Cas asked. Dean jerked his head up, and the tiny smile playing at Cas’ lips made the handful of butterflies in his stomach evolve into a fucking swarm.

“Always the quiet ones,” he said with a theatrical sigh. “Anyway. Lead on, Macduff.”

“It’s _Lay on, Macduff,_ ” Cas corrected, shrugging on his jacket, and Dean groaned.

“Oh good,” he said, shoving at Cas’ shoulder. “So you’re insufferable as well as a genius. Thought I got my share of that with my little brother.”

Cas shrank back apologetically, but Dean just smacked his shoulder lightly and nudged him towards the door.

“ _Lay on_ , then, Cas-duff,” he said with a slightly suggestive wink. “Let’s go get drunk.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I like this place,” Dean commented, looking around as he slid into a booth. “Guess you can’t go too wrong in a place called Bukowski’s.”

Cas hummed in agreement, picking up a menu. “It’s hit or miss. Avoid it like the plague if there’s a game at Fenway, but otherwise there’s generally a lower concentration of college kids here, even on a Friday night. Though in a city like Boston, it’s unavoidable to some extent.”

“Jesus, and the beer list is a fucking _book_?”

Cas laughed. “Yes, some of the bars around here like to outdo each other with their frankly ridiculous beer selections, but I can’t bring myself to complain. And the burgers here are excellent, if you’re hungry.”

Dean’s eyes lit up, and he grabbed at the other menu. He scanned down the list and let out a moan.

“Wait, _peanut butter burger_?” he said, raising his eyebrows. “What the fuck do you East Coasters _do_ to your food?”

“It’s surprisingly good,” Cas assured him. “Though I was once convinced to try a peanut butter and fried egg burger. Not one of my better decisions -- at least, not after a long night of gin & tonics.”

“Duly noted,” Dean said with a laugh. He tossed down the menu and reached for the beer list again. “OK, burgers I got, but I gotta say, I’m a little overwhelmed here.”

“Well, what do you like?” Cas said, reaching across the table so they could both see the list.

“Uh… beer?” Dean mumbled with an embarrassed shrug. “Usually stick to the basic stuff, but seems kinda a waste here…”

“It is,” Cas said firmly. He paged through thoughtfully. “May I order one for you? First round’s on me, in case you dislike it.”

“Works for me,” Dean said. “I’d probably just panic and order a Heineken.”

“Blasphemy,” Cas scolded, smacking his hand with the menu.

As if on cue a waitress came by, depositing glasses of water on the table. She eyed them both in obvious appraisal, then caught herself, clearing her throat.

“Evening,” she said cheerfully. “My name’s Beth, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

“Puttin’ myself in your capable hands here, Cas,” Dean announced, leaning back and crossing his arms.

Cas stared at him for a moment, a slight flush creeping into his cheers, then coughed.

“Yes, um. I’ll have the Dogfishhead 60 Minute IPA, and my, uh -- my friend will try the Chimay Rouge.”

“Good taste,” Beth said approvingly. “You guys lookin’ to eat, or just the drinks for now?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean declared. He grabbed the menu again. “I’ll have the, uh… You got any burger recommendation? Not sure I’m ready for the peanut butter yet,” he said, shaking his head at Cas.

“Blue cheese and bacon,” she said immediately.

“I like the way you think,” he said. He threw her a flirtatious wink, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a momentary scowl twist onto Cas’ features, and he bit back a grin.

“Fries? Also have chips, slaw, mashed potatoes, or --”

“Fries are always good,” Dean said. “Cas?”

“Oh, uh, I… I’ll just have the grilled chicken, please,” he said, folding his menu.

“No you will not,” Dean interrupted. “ _You_ were just tellin’ me how good the burgers here are, an’ now you’re gonna just leave _me_ to be the only fat-ass? Nope, buddy.” He snatched the menu out of Cas’ hands. “He’ll have the… California burger,” he announced. “And burgers’re on me, since these beers’re on you.” He paused, then looked up, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “If that’s cool with you, I mean, dunno if you even like -- just seemed --”

“It’s actually my favorite,” Cas said, smiling. “I’ve just been trying to watch my diet, as I get older, but if you insist…”

“Well, whatever you’re doin’ it’s workin’ for you,” Dean blurted, unable to keep his eyes from drifting down the lines of Cas’ body.

They both stared at each other for a moment, and the waitress let out a pointed cough.

“Fries for you as well, sir?”

“Oh, uh… may I have the sweet potato fries?”

She smiled at him. “Technically, we’re not allowed to substitute sweet potato fries, but I’ll see what I can do. Be right back with your drinks.” She collected their menus and wandered off.

“She was checkin’ you out,” Dean said immediately.

“She was not ‘checking me out’, Dean,” Cas said, fiddling with his water glass. “It’s her job to be friendly.”

“Nope. Totally checkin’ you out,” Dean repeated, grinning. “Gonna leave her your number?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Attractive as she may or may not be, she’s not really… my type.”

Dean blinked. “She’s… oh.”

“Yes,” Cas mumbled, staring at his hands. “I’m gay, Dean. I.... I understand if that makes you uncomfortable.”

Dean stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Dude, not _everybody_ from Kansas is a raging homophobe, you dick,” he managed. “And anyway, _I_ ,” he continued, leaning back, “am an equal-opportunity kinda dude.”

Cas looked at him quizzically, head tilted to one side, and Dean felt a blush begin in his throat.

“I, uh, I’m bi, dude,” he said, aiming for bravado. “So no judgment here.”

Something tense and nervous left the corners of Cas’ eyes, and Dean couldn’t help the open, honest smile spreading across his face.

“Ah, young love,” Beth announced, appearing at their table, and they jumped. “Here you go -- IPA for you, and here’s the Chimay. How long you guys been together?”

They stared at her.

“We’re not,” Dean began.

“We actually --” Cas clarified.

She stared back at them. “Oh!” she finally said, embarrassed. “Wow, I’m sorry. How tacky of me.”

“It’s fine,” Cas assured her, gathering the shreds of their collective dignity. “You’ve made it up with the sweet potato fries.”

“Well, that was awkward,” Dean said, watching her disappear.

“I’m sorry,” Cas mumbled, but Dean waved him off.

“Naw, dude, s’fine,” he said, then raised his beer. “So what exactly am I drinkin’ here?”

“Chimay. It’s a Trappist ale, from Belgian monks. Strong, but light.”

Dean gazed at it suspiciously, then lifted it, swirling the liquid and inhaling, and he raised his eyebrow. Finally he took a slow drink, and a delighted expression came across his face.

“Dude,” he said. “This is fuckin’ delicious. You don’t even _know_ me, and you know my taste in beer better’n I do.”

Cas relaxed visibly, and a pleased smile spread across his face. “I’m glad you enjoy,” he said. “I like to think I have good taste. At least in beer.”

“And in random dudes you go out drinking with,” Dean teased.

“Well, _that_ remains to be seen,” Cas retorted. Dean choked slightly, and Cas flinched. “I mean, um…”

“You’re a weird guy,” Dean said, wiping his mouth, and Cas recoiled further. “No, s’not a bad thing!” he added. “I’m glad I met you, for real. ‘m havin’ a way better night than I expected to have.”

“And I also,” Cas said, smiling.

At that moment the waitress reappeared with their food.

“Bacon and blue cheese,” she said, setting down the plate, “and California. How are your beers?”

“Delicious,” Dean said sincerely. He popped a fry into his mouth and groaned.

“Very,” Cas agreed. “Thank you.” He took a long pull of his beer, then held it out hesitantly. “Would you like to try my IPA, Dean?”

“Uh… sure,” he said. “And you wanna try my, uh… Belgian shit?”

Cas laughed. “I already know I like it very much, but I won’t turn you down.”

Dean eyed the dark liquid, then took a sip. He sputtered, setting the glass back on the table.

“Shit, sorry,” Cas apologized, reaching over with a napkin.

“No, no,” Dean said, coughing slightly. “Was just, uh… not what I was expecting.” He took a slower drink, letting it play on his tongue, then swallowed. “I think I like it, actually,” he finally said. “Lots of fuckin’ flavor, though.” He took another small sip, then pushed it back across the table. “And you cursed!” he added, smirking. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“I curse,” Cas said, affronted, then laughed. “Though I suppose not as much as befits a man of my age. Upbringing.”

“S’okay,” Dean assured him. “Makes it kinda hot when you do.”

“Is that a flirtation?” Cas asked, a slight smile on his face, and Dean laughed.

“If you want it to be,” he retorted, then picked up his burger. “Oh, fuck me,” he murmured, inhaling the scent. “Boston ain’t so bad after all.” He took a bite and moaned, the juice dribbling down his chin.

Cas had his own burger raised halfway to his mouth but he’d frozen, watching Dean swallow. “Um, yes,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “Like I said. Great burgers.”

“I’ll say,” Dean agreed. He took another bite, washing it down with a swallow of beer, then sat back. “Seriously, dude, this is awesome. Figured I’d just be spendin’ the evening on like Facebook or Netflix, which seemed like kinda a shame, bein’ in Boston for the first time. Now I got good food, good beer, good company.”

“For me as well,” Cas said, munching on a sweet potato fry. “I… Many people find me somewhat… odd,” he confessed. “I’m very glad to have your company.”

“Well, you are odd,” Dean said, laughing. “But s’good. I dig it.”

Beth popped back up at their table, eyeing their nearly-drained beers. “Can I get you guys another?”

Cas and Dean looked at each other with twin small smiles.

“Yeah,” Dean announced, draining his beer. “So, Cas... what d’you suggest?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I can't _not_ add an alley scene wherever I can sneak one in.

By half past midnight, Dean and Cas had worked through enough of the beer list to put a dent even in Dean’s sizeable tolerance, and Cas was swaying slightly.

“You tryin’ to get me drunk?” Dean accused, pointing his bottle of Unibroue at him, and Cas let out what was almost a giggle, barely tempered by his whiskey-gravel voice.

Dean realized, belatedly, that he had been so focused on the pitch of said voice, and the movement of Cas’ mouth, that he hadn’t actually heard his reply, and he shook himself.

“Sorry, what?” he said, hiding his embarrassment behind a long sip.

“We should head back soon,” Cas repeated, a note of regret in his voice. “The trains don’t run very late here, and it would be quite a walk.”

Dean made a face, but nodded. “True. Both probably got shit to do tomorrow anyway.”

“Indeed,” Cas agreed. “I’m meeting with a former professor to discuss ideas for my dissertation.”

“Nerd,” Dean said, earning a scowl from Castiel. “Hey, brainy’s the new sexy, right?”

Cas snorted. “I believe that only applies to Sherlock.”

“Naw, that guy’s got nothin’ on you,” Dean declared, only half-joking. He flagged down the waitress, and they both fumbled a pile of bills onto the table before heading out into the brisk October air, slightly unsteadily.

They made it onto a nearly empty train, and within a few stops Cas’ head began to droop, eventually landing on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s stomach fluttered at the unconscious intimacy of the gesture.

He tried to crane his neck to check the station listing without disturbing Cas, but as stop after stop flashed by in a blur he gave up.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Cas gently. “Hey, sleepyhead. I dunno where we get off.”

Cas looked up, blinking confusedly. His eyes shimmered even in the sickly yellow light of the subway car, and Dean swallowed.

“Sorry,” Cas mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He glanced out the window as the train ground to a stop again, then sat up straight. “Shit. We’ve missed our stop.”

“Shit,” Dean echoed. He stood up and grabbed Cas’ hand, and they slipped out just before the doors closed. “D’we need to get back on the other side?”

Cas shook his head, and Dean resolutely ignored the fact that he had not let go of his hand. “Its only a stop or two. Shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes.” He curled his fingers against Dean’s and pulled him towards the escalators.

When they got above ground and were met with a gust of cold October air, Dean reluctantly let go to pull his jacket closer, and Cas tucked the ridiculous Harry Potter scarf he was wearing closer to his chin.

“You’re absurd,” Dean mumbled, reaching up to tug at one end of the scarf. Cas hip-checked him lightly, and Dean lost his somewhat tipsy balance, nearly stumbling into the street.

Cas grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the sidewalk, wide-eyed and apologetic, and Dean leaned against a wall, laughing.

“Jesus, Cas, so just gettin’ me drunk to get me run over, huh?” he managed.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, his face pink even in the moonlight. “I -- I’m afraid I’m rather clumsy…”

“Opposite of clumsy, more like,” Dean snorted, and Cas bit his lip. Dean couldn’t help tracking the motion, his eyes drifting down to Cas’ mouth, and he suddenly became acutely aware that Cas had not let go of his arm. Almost without thinking, he reached up with his free hand and pulled Cas’ lip free from his teeth.

The light from the streetlamps reflected in Cas’ eyes, and finally Dean leaned in infinitesimally slow, and brushed his mouth against the tiny indentation in Cas’ lower lip.

Cas’ breathing hitched, and he pulled back, stiffening.

Dean jerked his head back, nearly smacking his skull on the brick wall. “Shit,” he mumbled. “I shouldn’t have -- I’m sorry, that wasn’t -- mmph.”

He swallowed the rest of his words as Cas’ mouth pressed back against his, firm and insistent, and the fingers on his wrist slid up his arm to tangle in his hair. Dean wrapped one hand around Cas’ waist and tugged him closer.

“Oh,” Dean breathed as they finally broke apart, gasping. He suppressed a sudden giggle, and Cas frowned.

“Is… is something funny?” he said uncertainly, and Dean just waved a hand.

“Just… just didn’t expect to be spendin’ my evening makin’ out with some strange yet ridiculously hot dude in the middle of…” he flapped a hand vaguely, “-- wherever we are. Thought that shit only happened in the movies. Or in college,” he added as an afterthought.

“I, um… I’ve wanted to kiss you since you asked me for the WiFi password,” Cas confessed.

“So you _did_ have an ulterior motive in feedin’ me all those beers,” Dean accused in mock outrage.

Cas stared at him for a moment, and then Dean found himself being dragged into an alley and shoved up against the wall. Before Dean’s brain caught up with the fight-or-flight triggers going off in his head, he was getting kissed so hard his knees went weak.

“Are you complaining?” Cas asked, his spit-slick lips parted enticingly, and Dean bit back something embarrassingly close to a mewl.

“Not as long as you keep kissin’ me,” he finally managed with a breathless grin. He was desperately trying to resist the urge to grind shamelessly against him when Cas did it for him, knocking his legs apart and pressing his thigh between them. Dean was distantly gratified to discover that Cas was just as hard as he was.

“Jesus, Cas, you don’t fuck around,” Dean gasped, his head falling back.

Cas pulled back slightly, hesitation creeping into his lust-dark eyes.

“I’m sorry, I, uh… I’m told I can be a bit intense. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He let go of Dean and began smoothing his rumpled clothes.

Dean rolled his eyes, pulling Cas’ mouth back down. “Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured, sliding his fingertips under Cas’ shirt as he slid his mouth to his neck. Cas groaned, his hips jerking against Dean’s.

Dean couldn’t quite keep back a whine as Cas slipped a hand between them, palming at his dick through his jeans.

“Fuck, Cas,” he ground out, “I usually don’t -- don’t get bent over in a dark alley on the, on the first date, but -- if you don’t stop --”

Cas’ free hand tightened reflexively in Dean’s hair. “That isn’t a very good incentive for me to stop,” he pointed out breathlessly into Dean’s ear.

Dean was about to rip Cas’ jeans off with a snarl when they were interrupted by a chorus of catcalls from the sidewalk. This time Dean’s fight-or-flight instinct _did_ fully kick in. He sprang back into a defensive posture, reaching instinctively for his knife, then cursed when he realized he’d left it in his duffel bag. He knew he could hold his own in a fight, and from his freshly-acquired knowledge of Cas’ body he wouldn’t be useless either, but they were still only two guys against however many had caught them.

But he peered out into the street, squinting against the light, and the group of people looking back at them -- now applauding politely -- were clearly not about to jump them. Drunk and obnoxious, obviously, but not looking for a fight.

“Damn,” said one red-headed chick, leaning forward to stare between them. “If I’d’ve had a cam I’d never’ve let these assholes interrupt you.. I bet I could _totally_ get $7.99 per minute for _these_ two.”

“Um, you have a phone,” pointed out another of the group, a lanky guy with a weird mullet. “Ms. computer genius there.”

“I,” she objected, then shut her mouth. “Shut up.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Dean grumbled, embarrassment creeping in as the adrenaline faded.

“Than watch two hot dudes get it on an alley?” piped up a short blonde girl from the back. “Gonna go with nope.”

“And you tell me _I_ have no tact,” said the first guy with a sigh.

“Never claimed to either,” declared the redhead. “Anyway, we’ll let you get back to it. However, uh… you probably really _don’t_ wanna fuck in that alley,” she said with a shudder. “Just a pro tip, y’know… _mano a mano_.”

“I don’t think that phrase means what you think it means,” Cas mumbled, and she grinned.

“Never claimed to be an English major.”

They wandered off, and Dean and Cas stared after them, mouth slightly agape.

“What just happened?” Dean asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I feel slightly dirty,” Cas muttered. “I suppose there’s some irony there.”

“Fuckin’ mood killers,” Dean agreed. “Though maybe I should thank ‘em… lookin’ around, I’m suddenly not sure I _want_ to be on my knees in there anymore.”

Cas groaned. “Not helping the mood _stay_ killed,” he informed Dean. They straightened their clothes, and as they stepped out of the alley Dean stepped on something that let out a small squelch.

“Oh, God, tell me that’s not…”

“A used condom?” Cas supplied, looking down.

“I said not to tell me.”

They continued back to the hostel, hands shoved in their pockets against the chill but shoulders bumping together.

“Man, now I _really_ wish I had a motel room,” Dean grumbled. Cas stopped, looking suddenly sheepish. “What?”

“I, uh,” Cas said. “I actually have a private. At the hostel. The university conceded at least the need for a place for me to work undistracted. Of course, the WiFi doesn’t seem to work, so in the end, it --”

“You mean to tell me,” Dean interrupted, “you were about to put your hand in my pants in a dirty alley, when you had a room of your own a few blocks away?”

“It seemed presumptuous earlier,” Cas said, blushing. “And then I… just wasn’t thinking. And there’s -- there’s not much in it, I mean…”

“Is there a bed?”

“Yes.”

“Are there other people?”

“No.”

“And,” Dean continued, pulling Cas in to whisper in his ear, “would it be _presumptuous_ of me to invite myself into it?”

“N-no,” Cas said with a shudder, his fingertips digging into Dean’s hips.

“Then let’s go.”

He pressed one quick, hard kiss to Cas’ lips then pulled away, grabbing his hand and dragging him down the street.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dearest [eveanyn](http://eveanyn.tumblr.com), please accept this gratuitous smut as a belated birthday gift, as it is only through your ~~demanding~~ ~~goading~~ love and encouragement that it got resurrected from the abyss in which it languished.  <3

Dean dragged Cas through the hostel lobby. The common room was still packed and raucous, with people crowded around the television or chatting on couches or just drinking quietly with their laptops in corners, but no one spared them much more than a glance, and they tumbled into the stairwell.

Cas pressed Dean against the dingy white concrete, one hand in his hair and the other insinuating itself under his shirt, and Dean arched, gasping into his mouth.

"Dude," he finally managed, pushing Cas away minutely. "Heard somethin' 'bout a private room. With a bed."

Cas stared at him blankly for a moment, then pulled away. "I apologize," he said, blushing slightly. "This isn't -- I don't do this often."

"Pick up strange dudes in hostels full of twenty-year-olds?" Dean said, laughing breathlessly. "Yeah, me neither." He leaned up to press a soft kiss to Cas' temple. "Room. _Lay on_ , Cas-duff," he added with a smirk.

"You learn well," Cas said. He grabbed Dean's hand and pulled him up the stairs.

By the time they reached the fourth floor Dean was complaining loudly.

"Can't these places afford _elevators_?" he whined. "You'd think with like a billion people crammed inside they could make it happen…"

"It's one more floor, Dean," Cas chided. "I am confident in your cardiac virility."

" _Better_ be confident in my virility," Dean said, but he clambered up the last flight of stairs.

Finally Cas swiped his card-key in front of a cactus-colored door, and they tumbled inside. The room was prison-stark, bare but for a desk, a locker, and a twin bed, with a small neat suitcase tucked into a corner.

"No bathroom in a private even?" Dean grumbled. "Guess they really don't want shower sex in this place."

Cas snorted. "In a hostel that lodges countless people in their late teens and early twenties? Do you blame them?"

"I guess not," Dean admitted. He began crowding Cas back towards the bed, then paused, sheepish. "Uh, speaking of. Kinda gotta take a piss."

Cas flopped back on the bed, pillowing his head on his arm. "Down the hall, to the right." 

Dean shuffled out, dodging a trio of very drunk girls chattering away in Spanish and ducking into the men's room. It was huge and industrial, but surprisingly clean, all beige tile and shining chrome. He pissed and washed his hands, splashing water on his face, and tried to gather himself.

His instincts told him to run, to slip off back to his room and go to sleep before this beautiful, brilliant man sobered up and realized he wasn't worth his time. He checked his pockets: wallet and phone and room key. For a half-minute he considered just slipping back down the stairs and out the door before everything could blow up in his face.

But those blue eyes stuck in his brain, and suddenly he was standing outside Cas' door.

He raised his hand and knocked weakly, flexing his knuckles. Cas opened it, eyes huge and blue and smiling, pulling him back in.

They sat down side by side on the bed with a thunk, leaning into each other and knocking their shoulders together.

"This was easier when I was more drunk," Cas admitted, staring at his hands.

Dean flinched away. "Sorry, man, I can go, I --"

Cas shut him up with a kiss, less heat and more sweetness, and Dean melted.

"I, uh," Dean said, face reddening. "I want…"

"What do you want, Dean?" Cas asked.

"You, dickhead," he said. He leaned over and nipped at Cas' neck. "Thought you were gonna fuck me in that alley? Now we got a room and you won't?"

Cas stared at him for a moment, then Dean found himself flat on his back, with strong legs straddling his hips and warm hands sliding under his shirt.

"You were saying?" he murmured, and Dean choked out a whine as a thumb flicked over his sensitive nipple.

"Jesus, Cas," he groaned, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Cas' jeans. "You don't do shit halfway."

"Are you complaining?"

"Well, we're still fully dressed," Dean pointed out. "So yeah, little bit."

Cas snorted softly, then reached down to try to yank Dean's t-shirt and flannel off in one graceless motion.

"Dude!" Dean yelped, spitting out the collar of his shirt with a muffled laugh. "Gonna cut the night short if you end up chokin' me with my own shirt." He tugged them the rest of the way off and tossed them to the floor.

"Fine," Cas said, unperturbed. "Next time I'll _rip_ your shirt off. And maybe use the pieces to tie you up."

"Jesus," Dean said again. He didn't bother trying to hide his reaction to that, since Cas' position made the jerking of his cock abundantly clear. Instead he reached up to work at Cas' button-up shirt, and Cas just ran his hands up and down Dean's torso, with the occasional lazy roll of hips, until it was tossed to the side as well.

"You're beautiful," Dean blurted. Cas' eyes went wide, and Dean flushed. "Sorry, I just -- I meant --" He shut up as Cas dropped to his elbows until their chests were pressed together, then wrapped one hand in Dean's hair, pulling him into a hungry kiss.

"Meeting you," Cas murmured against his lips, "here," fumbling at Dean's belt, "and now," at last getting the jeans down his thighs, "makes me almost find my faith in God again."

Dean couldn't bite back a moan, and he shoved and fumbled at the layers of fabric until they were both naked.

They ground against each other, kissing and licking, touching and biting, until Dean let out a whimper.

"Please, Cas," he whispered. "If you -- I want -- I want it."

Cas groaned, letting his fingers trail between Dean's legs, then froze. "I, um. I don't…"

"Jeans," Dean said, rolling his hips up again. "Wallet."

Cas leaned down, fumbling at the pile of clothes on the floor until he came up with a condom, a packet of lube and a raised eyebrow.

"What?" Dean said defensively. "Got into the habit when I was younger an' sluttier. And got to admit, s'a good habit. Are you _complaining_?"

"No," Cas admitted. "I definitely am not."

He tore open the lube and drizzled some over his fingers, pressing further between Dean's legs, circling his hole. "You're sure you…?"

" _Yes_ ," Dean growled, bending his knees. "Cas -- _Castiel_ \-- if you don't get your cock in my ass so help me --"

Cas wrapped one arm around Dean's thigh and sank his finger into his ass, all the way to the knuckle. Dean jerked and whimpered, but there was nothing but pleasure on his face.

"Good?" Cas asked, dragging his finger in and out.

"Yes," Dean gasped. "You asshole."

Cas bent down, mouthing at his nipples, and added another finger.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean growled.

"That's the idea," Cas agreed, adding a third finger. He pushed them in and out, stroking and shivering, until Dean finally yanked them out himself.

"Fuck me," he gasped. "Cas. Please."

"You're sure --?"

" _Yes_ ," Dean bit out. "I'm _sure_."

Cas bent down to kiss Dean hard, then rolled a condom onto his dick, slicking it up with the rest of the lube. "How do you want to…?"

"Like this," Dean croaked, spreading his legs. "Want to see your gorgeous fuckin' face."

Cas wrapped his arm around Dean's leg, and reached down to work the head of his cock into his ass.

"Fuck," Dean choked. "Fuck. Shit."

"You OK?"

"Yeah. Jesus, yeah, so good. Not gonna last." Dean's eyes were wide and glassy, rolling back as Cas slowly fucked into him.

"Nor I. You're beautiful," Cas snarled, pulling his hip up to drive into him harder. "You're _perfect_."

Dean moaned, all shame forgotten. He wrapped one hand around Cas, gripping his ass and urging him deeper, and with the other he reached down to fist at his dick. 

"Shit," he swore, desperately fighting the orgasm coiling hard and fast in his belly. "Cas -- fuck -- 'm gonna --"

"Yes," Cas whispered, staring into Dean's eyes. "Come for me."

In an instant Dean was locked up and rigid, coming on his belly in thick white spurts, and a moment later Cas cried out, gripping Dean's hips and filling the condom.

They lay together in breathless silence for a moment, then Dean let out a laugh.

"Shit," he said again. "Weren't we s'posed to be, like, _not_ teenagers?"

"Again, not complaining," Cas murmured. "I don't know about you, but I'd been hard since you kissed me." He nuzzled his mouth into Dean's neck.

"Pretty much, yeah."

Cas pulled off the condom, tying it off and flinging it at the tiny trash can under the desk. Dean looked down and made a face.

"Really regrettin' the lack of a bathroom now," he said, glancing around for somewhere to wipe the drying come off his hand.

Cas blinked at him, then reached a hand off the edge of the bed, coming up with a t-shirt and a half-full bottle of water. He sloshed the water on the shirt and began wiping at Dean's belly.

"You're a genius," Dean said, stretching lazily. "Wait -- dude, that's _my_ shirt, y'know."

"You can borrow one of mine for your walk of shame." Cas leaned down and nipped at his lip.

Dean stiffened. "Oh. Uh, yeah. I guess I should go," he said. "Not much room for two dudes in a twin bed."

"No, no," Cas said quickly. "I meant -- if you, in the morning -- I don't mind."

"Yeah, it's OK, I got a bad back anyway, and --" He went to swing his leg over the bed, but Cas flung his limbs around him, and he found himself wrapped up octopus-style. 

"Cas."

Cas blinked at him, with an adorably contented expression, then pulled away. "I'm sorry. You can go if you want, of course. I just…"

Dean sighed and gave in, squirming onto his side and trailing a hand down Cas' ribs. "How long you here?"

"Tuesday, I think. I'm supposed to finish up my research over the weekend, meet with an advisor on Monday, and fly back Tuesday."

"Well," Dean said hesitantly. "I'm supposed to pick up the Mustang in the morning, make sure everything's in order then start headin' back, 'bout two days drive back to Lawrence."

'I understand," Cas said softly, and Dean flicked him on the ear.

"But more I think about it, y'know, car like that, should really give her a good checkup 'fore drivin' her half across the country."

"Is that so?" Cas said, a crooked grin curling at his lips.

"Mm-hmm," Dean affirmed. "Figure might take a day or so, make sure everything's in workin' order. Think you can carve a few minutes from your nerdery for a greasy Kansas mechanic?"

"Will you shower first?" Cas asked, tickling him gently.

"Nope," Dean said, batting his hand away and rolling on top of him. "Gonna knock on your door all gross and sweaty. Give you a blowjob with grease all over my face. Y'know, I could even bring some motor oil so we could --"

"You are _foul_ , Dean," Cas announced, unable to bite back the laughter bubbling up. "Completely repellent."

"Disgusting," Dean agreed, leaning down to lick at his ear. "It's part've my charm."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean woke up to pale yellow sun watering through the window and something hot and wet wrapped around his dick.

"What the -- Jesus -- fuck!" he yelped, back arching off the bed. He twisted one hand in the sheets, reaching down to wind the other in the head of dark hair nuzzling between his legs. Whatever he'd been dreaming about had been quickly superseded by Castiel's mouth, but given how close he was to coming when he woke up it had to have been good.

Cas lifted his head, huge blue eyes shimmering in the early morning light, and smirked around his cock.

"Cas," Dean slurred, still sleep-hazy, "gonna -- gonna --"

Cas just hummed, and the vibrations rippling up his spine sent him tense and crying out, coming in hard, dazed spurts down Cas' throat.

Cas sucked him through his orgasm, then pulled off, blinking up at him with a self-satisfied smile.

"I have to go soon," he said, mouthing at Dean's thigh. "You're welcome to stay here, but I have my only key, and you need a shirt, so --"

"So you woke me up with a blowjob?" Dean said, throwing his arm over his eyes. "Christ."

Cas flinched. "You looked so peaceful. I didn't -- I guess I didn't want you to forget me."

Dean sat up, blinking and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Uh, in the first place, you had your cock in my ass a few hours ago. Pretty sure not gonna forget you. And…" He shifted uncomfortably, drawing his knees up. "Thought I was gonna see you again tonight. Didn't know this was goodbye."

Cas shifted himself up, leaning against the wall. "You -- you really want to?

Dean stared at him. "Yes, you complete asshole. Yes, I want to."

They managed to get themselves cleaned up, passing Cas' shampoo back and forth between the tiny shower stalls, and suddenly Dean was alone, leaning against the door of the hostel, drawing in deep breaths.

"Shit," he said noncommittally.

He caught the commuter rail up to Gloucester, watching the city melt into suburbia and then the wild New England coastline, peppered by small towns. At the station he pulled out his phone and plugged the address he'd written down into Google Maps. It turned out to be about a mile away along the coast, and the app helpfully highlighted a walking path, so he set off, enjoying the crisp October air.

His good mood began to sour as he picked his way along the rocky path, pocked with sandspurs and blocked here and there by tumbledown dunes, his thoughts spiralling down into self-doubt. He tried to ignore the voice reminding him that Cas probably just wanted some easy indifferent sex, that he was just a fucked up Kansas kid with daddy issues and a GED, concluding that Cas would probably be gone by the time he got back anyway. And they hadn't even exchanged numbers, so by the time he found the address, he'd half-convinced himself he'd never see the guy again.

Finally, after checking in with the owner, he spent the morning drowning his sorrows deep under her hood. She really was in decent working order under all the rust and crumbling metal, and he felt a little guilty about even considering taking a few more days in Boston, so he called Bobby.

"Ain't I the one always yellin' at you to take a couple days off?" Bobby growled.

"Yeah, but Bobby, still early, I can head out this afternoon, back by Monday."

"Kid," Bobby said, "if you're even thinkin' 'bout stayin' longer, you got somethin' goin' on. Put some work in on the car if it makes y'feel better, but if I see your face here Monday mornin' I will beat your ass."

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. "Yeah. OK. Thanks, Bobby."

"Idjit," Bobby grunted, and hung up.

Dean snorted, but between the work on the car and talking to Bobby, he felt halfway better. He cleaned up, let the owner know he'd be back the next day and would drive her out early in the week, and wandered back towards the rail station.

By the time he was back on the train into the city the ennui was back full force. He pulled out his phone, chewing on his lip, and on a whim he thumbed his brother's number.

"Dean?"

"Heya, Sammy." A smile quirked at lips.

"Christ, Dean! Jess and I have been phone-tagging you for like two weeks! Where are you?"

"Alive and kickin'," Dean assured him. "Uh, Bobby sent me out to Boston for a job on a Mustang. Might've had a few panic attacks on the plane."

There was a pause, then a shuffling on the other end. "You _flew_?"

"Yes, I _flew_ , Sammy," Dean said, annoyed. "I am physically capable of getting on an airplane."

"No, yeah, I know, I just -- OK, Jess, Jesus -- _ow_!" A few buttons beeped, and Dean grinned as Sam's fiancée came on speakerphone.

"Dean!" she chirped.

"Jessica, my love," Dean drawled, and Sam squawked underneath her laughter.

They chatted for a few minutes, and Dean felt something unlock in his stomach. 

"So Christmas, Dean?" Sam finally said. "Coming here?"

Dean sighed. "I don't know. Money's tight, an' I don't wanna leave Bobby either. Can't you guys come here?"

"Dean, we _always_ spend Christmas here --"

"Sam," Jess interrupted. "We're already spending Thanksgiving with my folks. Why don't we go to Kansas for Christmas?"

Dean felt a tiny hot tear prickle at his eyes, and he thanked the gods for sending his little brother Jessica Moore.

"Then it's settled!" he declared. "Nope, shut it, your wife-to-be has spoken. Later, bitch." He shoved his phone back in his bag, leaning his head against the window, a small smile on his face.

Finally he got back to the hostel, and he took a deep breath, keying inside. He shoved open the door to the stairwell, but out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar shock of dark hair, bent over a laptop.

He hesitated for a moment, then swallowed and walked over.

"Fancy meetin' you here," he drawled, voice only cracking slightly.

Cas jumped, knocking his knee against the table, then a slow smile spread over his face.

"You came back," he said, with something like awe.

"Well, yeah," Dean said, trying for bravado. He dropped to the table and leaned in, pressing a long kiss to his mouth.

A few handfuls of popcorn landed in their hair, and they shifted apart, frowning.

"Get a room!" called an Australian guy.

"I don't mind," mused a German girl.

"I thought you wouldn't come back," Cas admitted.

"And I thought _you'd_ be gone."

"God, we're a mess. And…" Cas hesitated, toying at his lap. "I didn't have your phone number. Or your room number. I thought…"

Dean couldn't help the warm flush tingling in his belly and spreading up into his neck. He took out his phone, thumbing it open, and tossed it across the table, holding out his hand. "Put your number in. And gimme yours."

They tapped at each other's phones for a second, then sat back, staring at each other.

"Would you like to walk with me?" Cas finally asked. "The Common is only a few blocks down, and it's beautiful in autumn."

"Hell yeah," Dean said. "Pretty sweet to have a native tour guide."

They wandered down Massachusetts Avenue, over the Charles. Cas pulled Dean through the narrow streets of Beacon Hill, tiny houses crammed together over old stone roads.

Finally they ended up on Park Street, the setting sun gleaming pink and red in the western sky. Cas led Dean over the little hills and into the dead carousel, settling them back-to-front on a bright red horse and a one-eared rabbit.

"This _is_ kinda gorgeous," Dean admitted, leaning over the rabbit's tail to link their hands together.

"Yes," Cas said. "I don't regret leaving Boston, but I miss the seasons here."

"I can imagine," Dean said. "In Kansas, they're -- I dunno, fall is almost more intense, but…" He looked around, at the red and gold hanging over the city. "Not as personal, I guess."

Cas hummed. "Fall is personal, here. It's quite sensory. The smell of woodsmoke and the taste of apples, the colors and the crackling. The bite of early chill on skin. It's different for everyone, but somehow also the same."

"You're scary, you know that?" Dean said before he could help himself. Cas drew back, and Dean reached out, grabbing his hand. "No, like. In a good way. In a… can't believe you wanna hang out with me kinda way."

Cas blinked at him in confusion. "You radiate," he murmured, brushing his thumb over Dean's mouth. "Even strangers are drawn to you, like the sun."

Dean snorted weakly, then hopped off, pulling Cas with him. "Feel like we're in a teen movie," he mumbled, heading back over the river to Cambridge. "So. Uh. Talked to my boss. Got a couple days here. If you want."

Cas turned to him, eyes wide and bright. "You would do that? For me?"

"Well, for me too," Dean pointed out. "Case you didn't notice, I, uh. Kinda like you."

A slow smile spread across Cas' face, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to Dean's mouth. "And I you, Dean."

"Yeah, well. Good. S'good." He linked their index fingers together, and they walked in silence to the hostel.

"Would you like to," Cas said awkwardly. "You know."

"Sleep with you?" Dean said with a grin. "Have dirty, dirty -- _ow_!" He shoved at Cas, squirming under the onslaught of tickling fingertips.

"I was _going_ to ask," Cas said with a long-suffering sigh, "if I could take you out for dinner. Like -- like a real date."

"Thought we took each other out to dinner last night."

"It doesn't count if we didn't know it was a date at the time," Cas countered. "But we can skip straight to the sex, if you like."

"Well, I do owe you a mind-blowing blowjob," Dean said thoughtfully. "But it's still early. I _guess_ I can suffer through dinner first."

"Don't put yourself out on my behalf," Cas said, laughing.

"Uh, did that last night, if you missed it," Dean pointed out, and Cas rolled his eyes. "But lemme shower real quick. Think I got dirt places it don't need to be."

Half an hour later they were ensconced in an Indian restaurant on Mass Ave, with twin bottles of Kingfisher beer and Dean eyeing the buffet suspiciously.

"You _sure_ this stuff ain't gonna kill me?" he asked again, sniffing the air.

"Dean, people have been eating 'this stuff' for thousands of years," Cas reminded him. "Just try a few different things. I promise it won't kill you."

"I'm puttin' a lot of trust in a dude I met less than twenty-four hours ago," Dean grumbled, but he stood up and made his way over to the buffet table. He ladled a pile of rice onto his plate and then stood back, considering.

"Just try things," Cas admonished. "If you don't like anything here, I promise I'll buy you McDonald's later." Dean stuck his tongue out, but began spooning fragrant pieces of meat and vegetables onto his plate.

Finally he sat down, glared at a piece of chicken korma for a moment, then popped it in his mouth.

"Whoa," he said, swallowing. "Tha's good."

"I told you so," Cas said smugly. He tore off a piece of naan and dipped it in coriander chutney, nudging it across the table.

Dean took it and groaned. "I might have to keep you around," he said. "Gotta admit, not usually into tryin' new shit, but Jesus." He forked up a piece of vindaloo, then his eyes widened. "Hot!" he wheezed. "Hot, shit, hot --"

"Sorry," Cas gasped, choking back laughter. "I should have -- here." He poured some raita on another chunk of naan. "This will help."

"Christ," Dean muttered, wiping his eyes. "Warn a guy."

"I should have," Cas admitted. "Drink your beer."

"Tryin' to get me drunk again, huh?"

"I may have a newly vested interest in the functionality of your tongue," Cas retorted, then blushed. "Sorry."

They munched through the rest of their meal, Dean's face going wide-eyed in pleasure then contorting in disgust, until Cas finally set small bowls of mango ice cream in front of them.

"Christ," Dean groaned, tongueing the spoon. "Shit yeah, 'm keepin' you."

Cas blushed, locking his ankles around Dean's feet.

"So um," Dean said, pushing his saucer away. "Uh. I uh." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Turns out your university's less'n three hours from Lawrence. By car."

Cas blinked up at him with huge blue eyes.

"I mean, not that -- if you don't want -- just sayin'," he finished lamely. "Doesn't matter."

"Are you saying you're in driving distance?" Cas asked slowly.

"Guess so," Dean mumbled. He stared at his hands. "Not that -- not that you'd want. But."

Cas leaned across the table, catching at Dean's lips. "Fuck, yes, I want," he breathed, then flushed. "I mean. I know we barely know each other. But I'd like to… I'd like to know you."

"Biblically?" Dean asked with a crooked grin, and Cas snorted.

"I think we're beyond that point."

Cas paid their bill, ignoring Dean's protests, then pulled him back into the cold air. "So I might get to see you again?" he said, twining their hands together. "After, you know… this?"

"If you want to," Dean mumbled. "I think -- weekends and stuff, it's not so far --"

"Yes," Cas interrupted. "Yes, I do."

"OK," Dean said, a small smile curling at his lips. "Well. OK."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, this fic took FOREVER to see it through! so many thanks to my beloved eveanyn for poking me to get through it. <3

Dean turned up the volume another notch, trying to quell his nerves under the familiar chords of Metallica as the dense cityscapes of New England began melting into the empty hills of Pennsylvania.

Dean had driven Cas to Logan that morning, cursing at the snarled city roads, and dropped him off at the Delta terminal under grey skies heavy with the promise of an early snow. 

They'd spent every free minute together over the rest of the long weekend. Dean worked on the Mustang in the suburbs until the early afternoons while Cas dug through libraries and met with professors and took endless pictures of old buildings in various stages of disrepair and restoration. In the evenings, Cas typed up his research notes, organizing them in some system impenetrable to Dean but which Cas swore made perfect sense, while Dean curled up with Netflix on his laptop and one foot in Cas' lap.

And at night they wrapped themselves up in each other's body on Cas' flimsy twin bed, learning endless permutations of hands and lips and skin. By the time they'd packed their things and thrown their bags into the trunk of the Mustang on Tuesday morning, a tiny voice in Dean's head was wondering if he'd somehow fallen a little bit in love.

But then they had pulled up to the terminal, and after small kisses and awkward thanks and promises to text, Cas had gathered his bags, given Dean a last lingering kiss, and disappeared into the anonymous airport throngs. And as Dean navigated through the outskirts of the Boston and onto I-90, the entire weekend had settled into a feeling of faint unreality.

He stopped for lunch just outside of Scranton, grateful that his route skirted the tangle of New York City suburbs. He toyed with his phone as he ate his cheeseburger. Cas' flight hadn't left until eleven, and it was barely past one, so he knew perfectly well that Cas was still in the air, but he finally typed out a text anyway.

To: Cas  
_have a safe flight_

He stared at it, then sighed, erasing it.

To: Cas  
_hope you're having a good flight. I had a really great weekend. miss you._

"Ugh," he mumbled, thumbing the backspace key again.

To: Cas  
_fly safe. hope you don't have loud neighbors or screaming babies. just passed a town called olyphant, wasn't that in lord of the rings?_

He stared at the screen again and shrugged, then hit send and signalled for the check.

Just beyond the Ohio state line his phone buzzed in his pocket, and he swore. His fingers itched to check it, but he reminded himself that looking at his phone at seventy miles per hour in a car that was bringing in thousands of dollars of restoration commission wasn't a spectacular idea.

Finally he found an exit near Youngstown advertising gas stations and fast food. He pulled into a Shell to gas up and finally swiped open his phone.

From: Cas  
_My flight was uneventful. Aside from the teenager endlessly kicking the back of my seat. :(_

Dean snorted.

To: Cas  
_I'm tellin you, man, stick to the highway._

To: Cas  
_also, not gonna lie, didn't peg ya for the emoticon type_

From: Cas  
_I like them. Also, I believe you are thinking of the Oliphaunts._

 _nerd_ , Dean typed back, smiling.

From: Cas  
_Hello, have we met?_

To: Cas  
_yep I think we have_

The gas pump hitched and stuttered. He pumped it a few more times then set it back in its place. Inside, he used the bathroom, grabbed a bottle of water, a six-pack of shitty beer and a bag of beef jerky, counting out two twenties and change onto the counter.

He slid back behind the steering wheel, tearing open the bag of jerky with his teeth as he checked his phone again.

From: Cas  
_You are not texting and driving, are you?_

Dean rolled his eyes.

To: Cas  
_no, mom. I'm getting gas somewhere in ohio._

From: Cas  
_Good. :) How much farther do you have to go?_

To: Cas  
_uh, dayton is around halfway, about 3 or 4 hours from here, probably stop there for the night_

From: Cas  
_Not bad. I'll let you get back to driving; I'm still at the airport myself and should probably find a cab._

A goofy smile spread across Dean's face at the thought of Cas texting him before he even got home. Then a loud honk blasted behind him, and he realized he was still sitting at the gas pump. He raised a middle finger in the rearview mirror and started the car.

To: Cas  
_I'll text you when I'm off the road for the night, if you want_

From: Cas  
_I would like that very much, Dean._

Feeling much lighter, Dean swung back onto the highway. He cranked up Skynard's Greatest Hits, belting out the lyrics as the rolling hills of eastern Ohio flattened out into shades of brown and green, broken up by cornfields.

The miles slipped by easily, and soon enough Dean realized that the skyline of Columbus was looming in the distance. He debated stopping there, but it was still early, so he decided to press on for another hour or so towards Dayton.

Finally he pulled into a Super 8 on the west side of town. He paid for a king bed, grabbed his backpack and clomped up the concrete stairs, shoving the keycard into the slot until the door finally swung open.

Dropping his bag on the floor, he stretched until his spine popped, then toed off his boots. The last of the evening sun filtered in through the thin curtains, casting the dull white walls in into orange relief.

He snagged a tepid beer and opened the door, leaning against the frame. The parking lot was depressingly grey, even in the vivid sunset, and he pulled out his phone to snap a picture.

To: Cas  
_well, made it to the finest accommodations dayton has to offer_

From: Cas  
_Evidently. That's beautiful asphalt._

To: Cas  
_yep, paid extra for it_

To: Cas  
_you home?_

From: Cas  
_I am. I'm about to shower, actually. I smell like airplane vinyl and despair._

Dean snorted, stepping back inside and shedding his flannel.

To: Cas  
_me too. the shower, I mean. I smell like a gorgeous car and, like… corn, or something_

From: Cas  
_One of those is more appealing than the other._

From: Cas  
_Would you like to call me later? I hope this doesn't sound weird, but I miss you._

A warm flush spread up Dean's neck, into his cheeks, and he smiled.

To: Cas  
_yeah, cas. I miss you too. gonna shower and grab some dinner, then I'll give you a call, cool?_

From: Cas  
_I'd like that very much, Dean._

Dean tossed his phone to the bed and was about to peel off his t-shirt when his stomach let out a long, low growl. He glanced longingly at the shower, then sighed, shoving his boots back on.

Half an hour later he stumbled back inside with a grease-soaked bag from the Steak n' Shake across the street. He took out his burger and fries, setting them on a makeshift plate on the bed, and turned the TV on to the Food Network.

To: Cas  
_two burgers in one day. if I have a heart attack tonight, I'm glad I met you_

From: Cas  
_I have faith that you'll endure. You might try eating a carrot or something tomorrow, though._

Dean snorted, licking the juice dribbling down his hand.

To: Cas  
_pfft. I leave the rabbit food to Sammy_

He finished off his burger and put the fries aside, then downed the last of the beer still sitting open on the nightstand.

To: Cas  
_k gonna shower for real now. call you in a few?_

From: Cas  
_Yes. I'll be here._

The shower had surprisingly good water pressure, and Dean let it beat down on his back, soothing the kinks in the muscles from being in a car for eleven hours. He shook his head, running his hands through his hair to get out any remnant shampoo, then shut off the water and stepped out.

"Didn't fuckin' pack enough clothes for extra days," he cursed, rooting through his duffle. Finally he unearthed a pair of clean boxers from one of the pockets, pulling them on. He picked through the t-shirts, sniffing at them, then gave up, scooting back on the bed. Muting the television, he flopped back onto the pillows and thumbed Cas' number.

Cas answered on the second ring.

"Hello, Dean," he said, and Dean thought he could hear a smile in Cas' voice.

"Heya, Cas." He threw an arm over his face to hide his grin. "You safe back home?"

"I am," Cas affirmed. "I find myself torn between appreciating my own bed and lamenting its solitude."

Dean shifted, splaying out his limbs across the bed. "Yeah, dude, this bed's even bigger than the one I got at home. Ain't fair, right? Spend all weekend crammed in a tiny ass bed and now we're alone in big ones."

"It doesn't seem fair, but I can't bring myself to complain about our weekend sleeping arrangements," Cas said, his voice low and thoughtful. "Though I hope the next time we share a bed, it will be much more comfortable.

Dean's breathing hitched slightly. "So you really -- you know -- you wanna see me again?"

"I thought we'd agreed," Cas said, his voice turning hesitant. "I mean, if you don't -- but --"

"No, yeah, I do," Dean fumbled. "I really, _really_ do. I just, I dunno. Wanted to make sure."

"Dean," Cas said, soft and liquid, "if I had my way you would be spread out underneath me right now."

"Jesus, Cas," Dean choked, as his half-hard cock came to attention. "You can't just _say_ shit like that."

"Why not? It's the truth."

Dean let out an embarrassing whine, the hand not clutching the phone trailing down his torso and digging at his hip.

"You didn't fuck me this weekend," Cas whispered. "I wanted you to, but God, when you were begging for it, I couldn't say no."

Dean whimpered, toes curling into the sheets even though his hands were still off his cock.

"Cas…"

"Tell me," Cas entreated. "Would you want to fuck me?"

" _Yes_ ," Dean hissed. "Wanna see you on top of me, ridin' my dick…"

"Yeah," Cas breathed. "Are you touching yourself?"

Dean sucked in a breath. "N-no."

Cas hummed. "I bet you look amazing right now, still all wet from the shower, trying to keep your hands off of your cock. Are you still naked?"

"Um," Dean said, intelligently. "No. Boxers. Wasn't really expecting you to go all sex god on me."

"I'm offended," Cas said with amusement. "Let me guess: plaid?"

Dean glanced down, then flushed. "Snoopy, actually," he admitted, and Cas snorted.

"Only you could make Snoopy boxers sexy."

"I could take 'em off," Dean offered.

Cas hummed. "Leave them on, for now. I like imagining that."

"Uh, don't think you got much left to imagine," Dean pointed out. He toyed with the waistband of his boxers, the fabric rubbing maddeningly over his cock. "Are _you_ naked?"

"Yes," Cas affirmed. "I generally sleep naked, even when I don't have ridiculously attractive men sharing my bed."

Dean groaned, unable to resist the urge to palm himself. "Jesus, are you even real?"

"I promise you, I am fully corporeal," Cas said gravely. "I believe I demonstrated that to you repeatedly."

"Yeah, yeah, 'm still reminded of it every time I sit down."

"My apologies," Cas said with an audible smile. "Next time I'll be gentle."

"I wasn't complainin'."

"No, you weren't," Cas agreed. "Do you have your hand in your Snoopy boxers yet, Dean?"

"N-no. On top of them. Shit, now I feel like I'm fondlin' Snoopy."

Cas snickered. "Would you prefer to take them off?"

"Unless I wanna come all over my childhood, yeah." He lifted his hips and wiggled the boxers down his legs, kicking them to the floor. "Seriously, if you give me a Snoopy complex, we're gonna have to talk."

"I like talking to you," Cas said, and his voice had gone impossibly deeper. "Possibly as much as I like touching you."

"Good thing they're not mutually exclusive, I guess." Dean trailed a hand from his inner thigh up his torso, pausing to thumb at a nipple. "Fuck, Cas…"

"Do you want to touch yourself? Like I touch you?"

"Yes," Dean groaned, hips bucking up into empty space.

"Put your hand on your cock, Dean." His voice was commanding, but there was a telltale unsteady hitch, and Dean grinned, even as he wrapped his hand around himself.

"Yeah," he said, breathless and gravelly. He stroked himself slowly, letting the high breathless whines creep into his voice. "Fuck, Cas, so good. You touchin' yourself too?"

"Yes," Cas said simply, followed by a long, low groan. "Put your other hand in your mouth. Don't stop."

"Fuck." He fisted his cock, then brought his free hand up to his mouth, sucking noisily at two fingers. "Like that, huh?"

"Yeah," Cas whispered, his unflappable composure faltering. "Finger yourself, Dean. Like it's me."

"Oh, _Jesus_ , Cas." His head fell back against the pillow. "Thought you wanted me to fuck _you_?"

"Yes. But the first time you fuck me, I want it to be your cock, not my fingers."

Dean drew a deep breath, bending his knees. He rarely did this, opting instead for quick jerk-off sessions in bed or in the shower, and he pressed his middle finger against his rim tentatively.

"Dean?" Cas breathed, warm and concerned. "You don't -- if you don't want --"

"I _want_ ," Dean interrupted. He pushed his finger inside, spit-slick and sliding in easily up to the first knuckle. "Fuck. Fuck, Cas…"

"God, I'm picturing you, all spread out for me on the bed. One hand on your cock and the other inside you. Does that feel good, Dean?"

" _Yes_ ," Dean hissed, pressing his finger in further. "Cas, fuck, I want you so much…"

"Soon," Cas promised, and Dean's cock jerked even harder. "Soon, in a real bed, without thin walls and close neighbors. I want to lick you out until you're begging for it, and then I want to ride you instead."

"Jesus!" Dean yelped, and suddenly he was coming unexpectedly all over his hand, one finger buried in his ass.

"Did you," Cas said, ragged, "did you just --"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean slurred. "Barely got one finger inside me an' I couldn't hold back. Thinkin' of you, those fingers, imaginin' my cock so deep inside you…"

Cas gave a strangled gasp, then a broken moan, drawing in shuddering breaths.

"Christ, Dean," he murmured, sounding almost feline in his satisfaction.

"Mm-hmm." He stretched, wiping his hand unabashedly on the comforter. "Shit, dude. Not gonna lie, wouldn't've guessed you had such a filthy mouth when I first saw you hunched over your laptop."

"I guess you bring it out in me," Cas said with a small laugh. "I confess, I've been described as a 'prude' more than once."

"A _prude_? Dude, you fucked me into next week and then made me come on my own fingers. Not exactly my definition of a _prude_."

"You are somewhat difficult to resist." Cas yawned, jaw popping audibly. "Dean? I'm afraid I'm going to fall asleep fairly soon. Travel is tiring."

"It is," Dean agreed. Something twisted uncomfortably in his stomach at the dismissal. "I guess I'll, y'know, see you -- well, talk to you -- sometime soon?"

"Mm," Cas agreed noncommittally, and Dean swallowed hard.

"OK. Well, then --"

"Um," Cas interrupted. "There's actually -- the KU College of Architecture has a better library than the one here. I thought I might -- if it's OK with you -- I thought I might come there, to flesh out my notes. Whenever would be convenient for you."

"Yeah, dude." Dean stretched, a smile wreathing across his face. "Uh, I assume it would be good for you to do that as soon as possible?"

"It would. For academic purposes only, of course," he teased.

"Of course." Dean paused, taking in a deep breath. "So, like, this weekend?"

There was a moment of silence. "I'd like that very much, Dean."

Dean curled over onto his side, ignoring the wetness still smeared across his skin. "Yeah. I'd like that too, Cas."

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [tumblr](http://relucant.tumblr.com) or check out my [bike hippie blog](http://bikethepainaway.wordpress.com). I'm nice!


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